


Thirteen Years Ago: The Last Old Fashioned Whiskey

by TheHonorableJudgeNovak



Series: The Messy Chronicles of Ward Meachum's Crappy Life Thus Far [2]
Category: Iron Fist (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHonorableJudgeNovak/pseuds/TheHonorableJudgeNovak
Summary: Ward is seventeen when his dad dies. He has a conversation, a confession, and a drink. He thinks he might finally be free.





	Thirteen Years Ago: The Last Old Fashioned Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever heard of the rally or surge of energy before death? I take some liberties with it.

Dad actually looks like he's dying now. Lying in his giant king-sized bed, his limbs so thin that his knees are bigger than his thighs…Ward finds it hard to look at this almost-corpse who is still, somehow, his dad _._

 

"How…is…Domani?" his dad asks with a rattling breath. He sounds like it's taking all his energy to get the words out.

 

Ward thinks it's endlessly funny that his dad is exerting himself to ask after the company when he's on the cusp of dying. He suspects it's because his dad simply doesn't trust him with handling the subsidiary, even as small as it is.

 

When Ward first agreed to become CEO of the struggling subsidiary, Dad promised his guidance. But for the first year, he was given straight up orders; he was a glorified assistant. Then several months ago, just as he was starting classes at Wharton, his dad became increasingly distracted and weak, unable to hold a conversation for long. Ward had to make some pretty big decisions on his own, and to his surprise, Domani was still holding strong.

 

"Domani is fine. We're making a deal to produce and sell some of the light rebar in Dubai. To lower costs of transportation."

 

"Waste…of energy," Dad scolds. Ward rather thinks his dad _talking_ is a waste of energy but decides not to say so. At any rate, the board doesn't think it's a waste of energy or resources. The board thinks Ward is a fucking genius. He ignores his father's impotent insult and pulls the blankets up to the man's chin, also ignoring the petulant voice in his head telling him to smother the man and get it over with. He really does love his dad. The man is just hard to be around sometimes.

 

"You're just delirious, Dad," he says patronizingly.

 

"Need…China…get Singapore."

 

Yes, Singapore is a good move, but that will take time and finesse. Dubai is the present priority. "We'll get on it in the next couple years," Ward reassures the man.

 

"No!" groans his dad. "You won't…be Domani…that," hacking cough, "long!"

 

Ah, this again. His dad is convinced that Ward will simply step down from the architecture firm and become CEO of Rand upon his death. Ward has other ideas. He doesn't want the responsibility, he wants to finish his degree, and he likes his team at Domani. They respect him now after two hard years, and he honestly doesn't know if he can handle a big role in a corporation as large as Rand. He has tried to bring up the issue, but each time he was struck down. Sometimes literally, back when his dad had the strength. So he stopped bringing it up or mentioning it.

 

He looks at the seething skeleton-man and raises an eyebrow. He knows he can really get on his dad's last nerve right now. A part of Ward thinks the man deserves the agitation, since it feels like Dad's spent the last two years deriding his every independent move. But the more reasonable part of Ward recognizes that the man is dying, and that trying to win a petty argument against a dying man was more like losing, in the grand scheme of things.

 

So he takes a mental step back. "We'll look into Singapore," he acquiesces, if only to calm the man down. It's not like Dad will survive long enough to see any of it.

 

Dad settles down, and he has a smug look about him that Ward heavily resents. He clears his throat and decides to screw it; this is his opportunity to stand up for himself: "And I'm going to let Lawrence handle Rand for now. I'm going to concentrate on building up Domani and being here for Joy-" because really, running Rand would be a time sink and a stressor he's not ready to tackle, and, more importantly, he isn't about to leave Joy to mourn alone. Not gonna happen "-and once I'm ready, maybe in a couple years, I'll take on Rand."

 

At that, Dad starts breathing harder, his eyes bugging out of his head. He is so worked up that Joy gets quite a sight when she finally enters the room carrying a tray of snacks and a large pitcher of water. Dad's lips are a pale blue and there is a sheen of sweat on his face that wasn't there when she left. Ward feels a tiny bit guilty.

 

"What happened? I was only gone for a moment!" Joy worries aloud. She's just thirteen, but she's incredibly composed in stressful situations. She puts the ice water on the nightstand and grabs a cloth they periodically use to cool or heat his forehead.

 

She sits by his side and puts the cloth to Dad's cheek. "You okay, Dad?" she asks. Their dad struggles to get sound out.

 

"You _know_ how he is, Joy," Ward says with an exaggerated sigh, "He just works himself up. Says he saw Mom again."

 

Joy looks at him with eyes so sharp that Ward doubts he's gotten away with his lie. She ignores his explanation and simply pats their dad's sweaty forehead with the cloth. Thankfully, she stays in the room for the rest of the day, occupying their time by reading articles from The Wall Street Journal and The Economist.

 

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

 

Their evenings continue like this for another three weeks as the semester ends and summer begins. Ward turned in his final paper and received a gleaming  A+ on it and he's most certainly made the Dean's List again, but Domani's dealings in Dubai hit a standstill, keeping Dad agitated.

 

Dosed with constant streams of morphine and haldol to keep him pain-free and sedated, Dad hasn't opened his eyes or shown any signs of consciousness for the past few days.  The hospice nurse has told them to prepare for the end. Apparently, she's seeing all the signs. The periodic breathing, she says. The mottled hands and feet, the purplish hue to his lips. Dad's time has come.

 

Ward holds the man's cold hand in his own, searching for something to say. The hospice nurses and aides tell them that even though their dad has been completely unresponsive for the last week, it's possible he can still hear them. Joy has had plenty to say, and she's always coming up with new and pleasant things to tell him, even as he lies there with his unseeing eyes and drooling mouth.

 

Each long breath sounds like his last and they haven't really fed him in days, at the suggestion of the hospice nurse. Joy has seemed strangely at peace with all of this, and to be honest, so is Ward. It feels as though they have done their mourning. Their dad is dead in all the ways that matter, and they are just waiting for his body to catch up. Ultimately, Ward just wants the man to die. He doesn't _think_ it comes from a place of hate. He thinks it's because he's tired of seeing his _dad_ suffering and wasting away. His only dad, his last parent, one of the only two people in the world who loved him.

 

Ward squeezes his dad's hand. "I do love you, Dad," he whispers at first. Joy is fast asleep in her chair, her arms crossed on their dad's bed and her head resting on her arms. He supposes this might be one of the last times he can talk to his dad honestly. He clears his throat and tries again, leaving all the snark out of his voice. "I love you. And I love Joy. I want to make you and her proud, and I want to become good enough for Rand, even if it's only a board position. I'm sorry I haven't been everything you wanted."

 

He's being completely honest. He can feel himself choking up. He's being sincere in telling the truth and he feels like a coward because he can only say these things at his dad's deathbed when the man can't answer back: "But I don't like being your puppet, Dad. I want to be my own man, and if that means taking some time before joining Rand, then that's what I'm going to do. Regardless of what you want."

 

To his shock, the man's eyes snap open abruptly. He looks Ward in the eye, and with the most vitriolic voice he's ever heard, says, "What a disappointment."

 

Ward is stricken. He stands and looks at the man who has inexplicably recovered the vitality and lucidity lost years ago.

 

"Joy, sweetheart, get up," Dad says, nudging  Joy into awareness.

 

"Dad? You're awake?" she asks in wonder. He hasn't been sensible at all for the past week, let alone able to _talk_.

 

It feels like a miracle. A terrible, unfair miracle. Ward had been ready to let go, to move on. What was his dad _doing,_ just waking up like that?

 

"Yeah, I feel great. Say, is there anything in the kitchen?"

 

Joy is tearing up from happiness. Their dad hasn't had an appetite in the longest time. "Yeah, yeah, I'll get some applesauce, how does that sound?" she asks eagerly.

 

"My sweet Joy, that sounds delicious. With garnish too," Dad says, the skin crinkling near his eyes as he smiles dearly at her. Joy rushes out of the room, and Ward is left alone with him. Again.

 

Dad then turns to him and somehow has the strength to push himself up in bed. "I am appalled at your level of selfishness," he starts in a still-weak voice. Ward feels thoroughly chastened and a little betrayed. 

 

"Here I am, dying, and you have the nerve to throw all my hard work back in my face? Everything I do is for you and your sister," his dad pleads with him. The feeling of guilt weighs even heavier now.

 

Dad coughs. "Now, will you really deny a dying man his last wish?" he asks.

 

Ward has already been defeated. He tries to  keep his head up and maintain a semblance of pride as he obediently responds, "Of course not, Dad. Whatever you say."

 

"Go downstairs and mix up an Old Fashioned for your old man."

 

"What?" It's a strange request, and Ward doesn't understand it in the slightest. He thought his dad would force him to promise to become CEO or some shit. Instead, he was asking for a bourbon? "Are you sure you should be drinking?"

 

Dad points at himself, "Dying man," he says. Then points at the open door: "last wish."

 

Ward can't begin to understand what his dad is thinking, but takes the opportunity to be away from the oppression of the deathbed. So what if Dad is miraculously feeling better? So what if nothing is going to change, and he is forever going to be under that man's heel? Ward doesn't want to despair, but he can't help it. He thought he was going to be free.

 

He arrives in the kitchen to find Joy hastily putting together a bowl of applesauce. Then she is in the pantry, moving things around, looking for god-knows-what.

 

Ward walks to the fridge and pulls out the bottle of bourbon that's been sitting unopened for the past seven months. Dad's appreciation for alcohol had deteriorated along with his body. Apparently both are in fine condition now, Ward thinks bitterly.

 

"Why aren't you with Dad?" Joy asks, still rummaging in the pantry.

 

"Why aren't you? Growing the trees for your applesauce?" he asks testily.

 

Joy harrumphs. "I can't find anything to garnish it with. He started eating it plain, so we don't have anything like brown sugar or cinnamon or raisins."

 

Ward cannot begin to empathize. He ignores her and starts mixing up the Old Fashioned, finding a bottle of bitters and the cans of club soda at the back of the pantry. By the time he's made it the way Dad likes it, in a short whiskey glass topped off with an orange slice, he notes that Joy has left with the bowl of her ungarnished applesauce. He walks up the stairs with the drink and is startled by a strangled cry.

 

"Dad!"

 

Ward takes the steps two at a time, spilling most of the drink on the way up. He barges into the room to see Joy clutching their dad's shoulders, pitifully trying to shake him into consciousness.

 

Dad has his eyes closed and he would look peaceful, were it not for Joy's lamenting. Ward sets the bourbon on the nightstand next to the applesauce and puts two fingers against his dad's carotid. He waits for a long minute, dreading and hoping for a pulse. None comes. He pulls Joy away from the corpse and into his arms.

 

"It's okay," he says to Joy and himself as he tightens his hold on his little sister. "It'll be okay." He guides her to a chair in the corner of the room and retrieves the glass on the nightstand. He wonders if his dad planned this. Wonders if he waited until Ward and Joy were both gone before letting the reaper come for him. Ward turns the glass in his hand and, looking upon the still body of his father, decides to takes a sip of the drink to calm his nerves. It's good and he rather likes it. But it's also bitter.

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly, Ward has nested in the creative part of my brain and so has inspired a series. His asshole-ness is one of my favorite characteristics because it gives him a resilience that I don't see in a lot of characters. I hope that's somewhat portrayed here. Also, dramatic irony out the whazoo. Poor Ward doesn't know what's going to hit him. (I thought of adding a scene of Ward discovering that his dad is in fact alive, but I like where this ends). Please let me know what you think, and I'm especially interested in hearing your thoughts about the relationship between Harold and Ward (it's so fascinating to me, and I like to believe that Harold wasn't always completely evil/heartless toward Ward)


End file.
